|Tuesday| Vinum Vine farm

How many seasons have come and go?
First fall the leaves, then came the snow.
While the roots creep to a cruel death
The pruning angel enter the field.
Breaking the woods, and bon a fire.
To save a life that is ice cold.

When the Spring rain bust the buds
The cordons grow and twist their tendrils.
When sweet Summer brings the butterflies
They munch the leaves, but I aged the wine.